


Personal Day

by sakurasencha



Series: Some Assembly Required [3]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Pre-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Self-Reflection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-24
Updated: 2016-02-24
Packaged: 2018-05-22 22:59:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6096745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakurasencha/pseuds/sakurasencha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha reflects during the aftermath of her testimony in CA:TWS. With bonus AOS tie in material, and a little bit of Maria Hill, because everything is better with a little bit of Maria Hill.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Personal Day

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place directly after CA: TWS. Mostly written before A:AOU, but includes elements of later canon.

Two days after the hearing, Natasha was summoned.

_ My office. 4:00. Leave Legolas at home. _

_ -TS _

Natasha deleted the text. Stark had done well giving her a few days space after she had cracked herself open like a raw, fragile egg for all the world to see. She was still gathering herself together, swimming through the exposure. Stark wanted her to put her face on every billboard and she contemplated skipping out, skipping town, and mixing into the folds of humanity that didn’t measure success with a kill ratio.

But a part of Natasha knew a pedestrian existence would never take. Sooner or later she’d get the itch. Sooner rather than later she would be forced to scratch it. Since the Triskelion crashed and burned and SHIELD along with it, Natasha had been stuck in neutral – “finding herself,” so the glib saying went. But so far the only thing she’d found, once the abject shock had worn off, was that unemployment was excruciatingly boring.

So at 3:05 Natasha slipped into a pair of day shoes, donned a light hoody, mussed her hair a bit before sliding out the door.

She breezed through the lobby of Stark Industries' Corporate Floor, took all-access elevator to the twentieth floor and had just turned a blind corner when she was accosted by Maria and her signature, wax-like bun. "Natasha," she said. Now more manicured and irrepressibly pinned back than ever, not a single strand of hair fell out of place as she greeted Natasha with a firm and friendly nod.

"Maria." Natasha smiled. "Life in the private sector treating you well?"

"Well enough. Regular hours, not much overtime. Pretty quiet and low key, actually – pencil pushing, mostly." That garnered a double eyebrow raise. Even the tailored black suit that Maria wore with ease – the ubiquitous jacket and skirt combo which hung in every career women’s closet – couldn't draw the eye away from the plasterwork of foundation on Maria’s face, a slipshod attempt at masking a burgeoning black eye.

Natasha cocked her head. “Keyword ‘mostly’?”

Maria smiled. She pushed back a smooth curtain of bangs, the hair slotting effortlessly back into place. "And don't even get me started on the pay. SHIELD had us on slave wages compared to Stark. I’m already three car payments ahead, and last month I went so far as getting a cable subscription.”

“Smart move. I hear they have water coolers here. It’s good to stay informed.”

“And you know me. I love a good procedural.” Maria inclined her head down the hallway, at the end of which stood a limited access elevator. “Meeting with Stark?”

“In five minutes.” She lifted a shoulder. “Probably wants to harass me about the data dump.” She glanced down the hall. “I better go. Diva’s don’t like waiting.”

"I didn’t know you were one to indulge him.”

“I used to work for him. Old habits die hard.” She smiled at Maria and her primly trimmed outfit and shoes. “You’ll be there before long.”

Natasha smiled at her friend’s impressive eye roll, then began to move down the hall. After one step she was halted by a light touch on her arm, and Maria’s face without a trace of its previous mirth. “Natasha, hold on a minute....” Maria’s voice lowered. “Did you hear about Agent Ward?"

For a second Natasha's eyes narrowed, her mind running blank. Then an image formed:  black hair, dark eyes, solid chin; a calm, collected, picture perfect face that ostensibly always played by the rules. She'd only met him once, back when Maria had first vetted him for the program, but she'd heard plenty about him since then. "Best since Romanoff," was the prevailing comment, which always left Clint struggling for breath.

"No,” Natasha replied. “But from the context I can make a pretty fair guess. Hydra?"

“One of the deepest covers, apparently. He managed to fool Coulson, which we both know isn’t easily done.”

Natasha pressed her lips together, chewed on the information for a moment.  “How did you find out? You run into him?”

Maria nodded. “And Coulson.”

“Melinda?”

Maria smiled. “Who do you think tracked me down and gave me Coulson’s coordinates?”

Natasha’s face lit up with laugh. “So she got one over on you.”

“ _ Hardly _ .” Maria adjusted her jacket. “May definitely had help – of the maternal sort, if I’m not mistaken.” Natasha nodded. The Mays had turned espionage into something of a family business. Even back in her pre-SHIELD, KGB days she knew of the illustriously and deadly family.

“I know it’s not worth much, but I’m sorry about Ward. I know you vetted him.”

“Yeah, well. He’s not the biggest blow, not by a long shot.”

“I guess.” She put her hands in her pockets. “Didn’t know him well, but I never liked him.”

This seemed to surprise Maria. "Oh?" She gave a wan smile. "Why is that?"

Natasha couldn’t say at first. She’d blurted the opinion out as one would an incosequential preference, a simple matter of taste. She pictured the face that looked too good to be true, recalled how easily good looks could subscribe to the circumstance. The reports she’d read of the detached finesse with which he carried out his missions, the off field anecdotes that regaled him as the envy of every agent.  _ Best since Romanoff _ . And if anyone, Romanoff could testify that being a great spy was not exactly part and parcel with being a likeable human being.

Natasha looked down the hall. “He reminded me too much of myself.” She walked away.

After half a dozen steps Maria called after her. “He’s at large and dangerous, along with his former SO, John Garret. He was one of our best, Natasha. He’ll be difficult to take down.”

Natasha stopped. She looked back over her shoulder. “Is this a job offer?”

“Are you looking for a job?” It was the same question that had been in Natasha’ mind since the Triskelion. What was she looking for? What was she after? Did she want a new life? Or simply new orders to fill – a pharmacist who can never get enough of handing out death in a bottle. “He killed Victoria hand.”

Natasha closed her eyes. That stung. “Ward isn’t my problem. Coulson and May….whatever happens, they can handle it.” She opened her eyes and continued forward.

“And he called you eye candy.” Natasha whipped around, eyes ablaze. “Just sayin’,” Maria finished with a smirk.

Natasha laughed. A small giggle at first, which escalated into a roaring the likes of which hadn’t been seen since the last time she visited the farm and Cooper had spilled spaghetti on her head. “I’ve been called worse.” Like stinky face and Aunt farts-a-lot. She laughed again. “For his sake, I hope he turns around.” For SHIELD’s sake too, and for hers, because all her anchors seemed to be drawing away, and it would be nice to have even a small reason to believe again.

She reached the window, punched in the code. While waiting, she looked out towards corridor wall lined with floor to ceiling windows. As high as she was, all she could see were the glittering tops of the highest towers. She knew this world, the watching world that lived above. And she it’s antithesis, the underworld, the one that lived below. She wondered about the prosaic world that lay in between. Babies crying, mommies shushing. Friday night pizza and eating ice cream cones outside in the summer. The life that Clint had but could never be hers.  _ Could it _ ?

The elevator dinged. The doors shut, unoccupied.

Natasha hummed on her way out the lobby doors.

* * *

Clint was on the phone when she got back to the safe house. He spoke half an octave lower than his normal tenor, some of the sharp edges abraded away in what Natasha dubbed his “wifey-voice.”

She sacked out on the couch with a bag of cheetos. By and by, Clint approached, stretching, rubbing his neck.

“So how was your meeting with his highness?”

“Didn’t go.” He stared at her. She shrugged.

“Natasha….” Now his voice was higher, toothpick sharp. Daddy voice. He padded over and sat next to her on the couch. “Why didn’t you go?”

She scarfed down a handful. Between crunches she managed to say, “I knew what he was going to say. What he was going to offer.”

“But isn’t that what you want? SHIELD’s gone; the Avengers is all we have left.”

“Not for you.”

“Natasha…”

“And maybe it doesn’t have to be for me. How do I know?”

Clint was silent. “So what are you going to do?” he asked.

“I have no idea.” She upended the bag and poured the crumbs into her mouth. She smiled. “But I’m going to try everything until I find out."

  
  



End file.
